


Just visiting

by Schist



Category: James Bond (Movies)
Genre: F/M, smut only implied
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-08
Updated: 2017-07-08
Packaged: 2018-11-29 09:48:51
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,113
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11438322
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Schist/pseuds/Schist
Summary: M comes home to visit her sister at the house where she grew up





	Just visiting

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this as a prompt, and to see if I could write M and try out the 00M ship. I hope I can write more 00M because I really enjoyed it!

It's days like this, with snow blanketing roofs tops and threads of smoke slipping out of chimneys, that I remember why I left this god forsaken place. It's pretty, yes, but that's the problem. It promises things it doesn't deliver: Cosy little houses, cups of tea in relaxed company in front of fire places. Quiet evenings with a storm raging outside or long leisurely walks with a friendly dog on a clear autumn Sunday. Perfect harmony. But when you get to know it it's just like everywhere else, only more narrow minded in its smallness and quaintness. Full of people who have stopped thinking long ago.

I pull up to the house but hesitate before I shut off the engine of my rental car. I could leave again, before she knows I'm here. It's a nice car, I could cruise down the motorway, stop wherever I want, find a nice hotel and relax with a book all by myself. I'm so rarely just by myself these days. Since my husband died I spend almost all my waking time at the office. Dealing with my agents. A feeling of warmth comes over me when I think of them. I've heard many times that I'm like a mother to my agents, but that's just the usual bullshit ignorant people say about older women in a position of authority. I'm their boss and there's nothing mother-like about it. But I do care about them, and I'll go to great lengths to keep them safe.

My mind darts back to the previous night. Bond's naked body next to me, that cheeky grin of his. The thought gives me strength and I turn off the ignition and get out of the car. The snow crunches underfoot. Someone has cleared the driveway and shoveled a path to the front door. I wonder who. Does she still get the neighbor's boy to do heavy chores for her? No Christ he must be grown up and moved away years ago. Probably has his own driveway to shovel by now. 

She opens the door before I have time to knock. Has she been watching through the window? Waiting for me? I don't know if I should feel annoyed or feel sorry for her. I wonder if I would be as lonely as her without my work. 

"I thought you'd never come" she complains.

"It's nice to see you too" I say and smile. I'm going to take the forgiving path. I'm here now and she's my sister; my only close relation. I don't want to argue. 

She lets me in and we hug. I'm shocked by how small and frail she feels in my arms. How did she get so old?

"Look at us old cronies" she says with a small laugh as if she read my thoughts. I want to protest that I'm not old, but that would be ridiculous. 

She takes my coat and asks about my trip. How the weather was, was there much traffic, did I stop anywhere? I follow her into the kitchen while she goes on about robbers on the road. They seem to take up a disproportionate amount of her thoughts, considering she never goes anywhere. I'm not afraid of robbers. Perhaps I should be, I'm an old woman traveling alone, but it feels small and meaningless compared to what I do at work. I make conversational noises and don't tell her I have a gun in my handbag.

"Dinner is ready" she says. "I hope you're hungry. Of course, I don't eat much these days and it's no fun cooking for myself."

"I know" I say with a smile. "I don't think I've cooked at all since my husband passed. I eat out."

She gives me a look of pity that feels uncalled for.

"I'm glad you can have some proper home cooked food here then" she says. "Help me with this."

She takes a bowl of salad out of the fridge and hands it to me. I wait while she takes a tray of turkey and potatoes out of the oven and then follow her to the dining room. The house seems absurdly large for one person. I wonder how often her children come to visit. Well, at least she has children. 

We sit down and eat. She seems to have gone out of her way to make traditional food with all the trimmings. I wonder how long it took her to cook it and if she enjoyed it. I’m not going to ask.

"Isn't it nice to be home?" She asks.

"This isn't home" I say, but in a gentle voice. "It hasn't been for many many years."

She looks annoyed.

"It will always be home, you can't shake off where you're from. And it will do you good to get away from that awful city."

"London? What's awful about it?"

"What isn't?! All the crime and shootings. Terrorist..."

I want to say that counter terrorism is a large part of what we do at the office, but she wouldn't understand. She knows I'm in the intelligence service but she doesn't know what I do. She probably thinks I'm a secretary."

"When are you going to retire and move back here?" She asks. "Get some peace and quiet? You're well past retirement age, surely you've earned it."

"I like working. What would I do here? Crochet?"

Her face tells me I've insulted her. Does she crochet? I can't remember. 

"You could live a quiet and dignified life that suits your age rather than hang around an office all day and... eat out."

"I don't think I'm old enough for that" I say.

"What's keeping you there?" She says. "Surely not a man?"

She laughs out loud as if that is the most ridiculous thought in the world. 

"I'm glad I'm too old for all that" she adds. "Men! Good riddance, don't you think?"

My mind goes back to last night. His hands on his back, his muscular arms, the taste of his sweat, the look on his face as he's thrusting inside me. I have to stop myself from smiling, so she won't ask what's making me so happy. I can't wait to get back to London tomorrow. Bond has no family, he will be in his Chelsea flat over the holidays. I can join him there. Or maybe we can go somewhere, take a trip to a Caribbean island just the two of us. My stomach fills with butterflies and I feel like a girl again.

"Yes" I say. "Good riddance. The food is lovely."

"Thank you!"

I raise my glass of cheap wine.

"Merry Christmas" I say.

"Merry Christmas dear."


End file.
